Sweetest in the Gale: A Marysburg Story Collection (There's Something About Marysburg Book 3)

by Olivia Dade

  I like you. I admire you. I care about you. I want you.

  That’s why I kissed you. No other reason.

  (It’s unrepentant plagiarism, I know. Write me up for an honor code violation at the front office, as desired.)

  In my own words, I also want you to know something else: I don’t expect you to forget about Marianne. I don’t want you to somehow pretend that she, your marriage, and your love for one another never existed, or that they no longer possess importance, meaning, and emotional weight for you.

  To misquote Whitman, our hearts are large. They contain multitudes.

  I don’t expect yours to be empty of anyone but me.

  My feelings toward you don’t erase my love and grief for Dee. I carry both with me. I always will. I don’t expect you to be any different.

  Until you indicate a desire for further intimacy, that’s all I’ll say concerning non-professional matters. As to the poetry initiative: I am more than willing to continue working together, and we can do so via e-mail.

  At the moment, I am contemplating whether we should add an Impromptu Haiku activity to our plans. With Tess’s permission, we could designate one specific day and time for all students to write a haiku about whatever class they happen to be attending. Kids in my class might write a haiku about Shakespeare, then, while kids in biology might write about the Krebs cycle. Kids in Mildred’s class might write, quite justifiably, about her ignorance when it comes to seminal literature in the science-fiction genre.

  I am eager to hear your thoughts on the matter.

  Take care, Griff. I would threaten you with mobster-style retaliation should you fail to do so, but that is no longer the language I wish to use when speaking to those I care about. Instead, I’ll simply say: I worry about you. If you wish to alleviate that worry, you’ll get more sleep and eat regular meals.

  See? All carrot, no stick. I’m learning.

  Yours,

  Candy

  He dropped his chin to his chest and took a few shuddering breaths. Then he sent a quick message back.

  FROM: griffin.conover@qc.k12.va.us

  TO: candice.albright@qc.k12.va.us

  SUBJECT: Thank you

  I absolutely want to remain your friend as well as your colleague, Candy. I know you’ll honor your word and my boundaries, and I appreciate that. I appreciate you.

  The Impromptu Haiku idea (and title) is brilliant. I’ll speak to Principal Dunn about it tomorrow.

  Griff

  A minute later, her response arrived. Then we have a plan. See you at school.

  That was all she wrote, each word friendly enough but distant. Businesslike. Already, she was making good on her vows.

  No physical intimacies. No emotional intimacies. Exactly as he’d requested.

  He showered and changed his bed linens, always willing to indulge a metaphor. When he slid under the covers, they were gratifyingly unwrinkled. Pristine.

  Also cold. Very cold.

  Our hearts are large. They contain multitudes.

  I don’t expect yours to be empty of anyone but me.

  The words wouldn’t leave him be. All night, they chased him through the darkness, scrolling across his ceiling. Echoing in Candy’s stentorian boom, then whispering with Marianne’s gentle murmur. Haunting him, even though he’d never believed in spirits.

  Or, rather, he’d always believed humans conjured their own ghosts, haunting themselves with creations born out of need and grief and anger and shame.

  His restlessness rumpled those spotless sheets. They twisted around his legs in a bind that bit into his flesh. With a hissed curse, he kicked free and went to sleep on his couch instead.

  He’d expected to find serenity in the decision he’d made. A certain restfulness in having set limits and protected himself, despite how fervently he’d come to want Candy.

  Instead, he found a disquieting emptiness, cold as those damn sheets.

  It wasn’t the same emptiness he’d experienced upon Marianne’s death.

  But it wasn’t as far removed as he’d have imagined.

  The next morning, Griff encountered Candy outside their classrooms.

  Other than a quick stutter in her step upon seeing him, she betrayed no nervousness, no hurt, no particular reaction to his appearance.

  “Good morning, Griff.” Her briefcase swinging from her shoulder, she unlocked her door before he could offer assistance. “You’re here early.”

  He fiddled with his own keys. “I, uh”—couldn’t sleep, because I kept thinking of you—“had some items to knock off my to-do list before kids started arriving for the day. You’re here early too.”

  “Yes.” A polite confirmation as she flicked on her lights. “I have a few errands to run.”

  When he didn’t move or say more, she directed a look of bland inquiry his way. “Did you want to discuss the poetry initiative? I have about ten minutes, if you’d like to talk in the department office or the library.”

  He might have been any colleague working with her on a project.

  It was what he wanted. What he needed.

  It felt precisely the same as those sheets last night.

  And for some reason, he was scrambling to keep her talking. Keep her with him. At least for one more minute.

  “We can talk here in the hall, if you want.” When she didn’t object, her gaze as inscrutable as before, he attempted to remember anything relevant to say. “Um…I’ll finalize the logistics of the poetry slam in the next day or two. The venue, required tech, refreshments, et cetera. Any changes to our plans or new information, I’ll send along. I’ll also let you know what Principal Dunn says about the Impromptu Haiku activity.”

  She smiled, and it was friendly. Nothing more. “That would be appreciated. Thank you. I’ll work on creating advertisements for the poetry slam and the Verses vs. Verses poetry bracket contest, which I’ll send for your approval before running them by the front office. As far as the poems for the morning announcements, I have the preliminary list somewhere on my desk—”

  When she shifted to peer inside her classroom, the overloaded briefcase slid off her shoulder, the strap falling to her forearm. The one with a cast.

  She gasped at the impact.

  “Dammit.” Instinctively, he reached for her, but she jerked back from him. “Candy—”

  She cut him off. “I’m fine.”

  Withdrawing his hand, he tore it through his hair and welcomed the sting of his scalp.

  Even through the barrier of her glasses, he could easily spy arcs of shadows beneath those pained fawn-brown eyes. Her bangs, neatly side-swept as always, were more effective at obscuring the lines etched across her forehead as she grimaced.

  After squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, she carefully placed the bag back on her shoulder and met his gaze again.

  “As I was saying, I have the initial list we made, but I think you have one that’s updated. If you could send it to me, I’d be appreciative.” She stepped into her room. “When you do, feel free to mention any other questions or updates. Have a great day, Griff.”

  She didn’t give him an opportunity to delay her further. In a blink, her classroom door was clicking shut behind her, the sound quiet but unmistakable.

  Later that day, he e-mailed some updated information and raised one last question. At our next department meeting, do you want to speak to everyone about emphasizing poetry in their classes during the appropriate week, or shall I?

  Her response was pure Candy, crystallized into a single sentence. Would you rather charm them or employ blunt force trauma in verbal form?

  He laughed out loud, even as that emptiness inside him ballooned further.

  Your brand of blunt force trauma is a pleasure to observe, always. Bring on the carnage, Candy.

  He waited for a response. When it came, it was brief.

  Very well. Take care, Griff.

  Five words. He stared at them for a very, very long time.

  Over the next few d
ays, he and Candy orbited each other from a safe distance. They sat at opposite ends of tables during faculty gatherings, greeted each other in passing as they walked down the halls of the school, and e-mailed documents and updates on the initiative rather than discussing them in person.

  Sometimes brief, bright glimpses of their old rapport shone through the veil he’d placed between them—

  It appears I bludgeoned our department members into submission, she’d written after the meeting, and he’d snickered at both the memory and her choice of wording. I hope you enjoyed the show.

  —but for the most part, their new relationship was everything he’d told her he wanted, and nothing he hadn’t.

  To quote Shakespeare: When you depart from me sorrow abides, and happiness takes his leave.

  To quote his students: It sucked.

  One more week of emptiness. Two.

  By the time their Falling for Poetry Initiative actually began, he was coming out of his skin, agitated and exhausted and confused. Still, all their plans and activities ran smoothly the first two days of the week. He and Candy hadn’t needed to confer in person once.

  In all honesty, by Tuesday afternoon, he was kind of hoping something would go wrong.

  When he saw Candy after school that day, though, he regretted his wish.

  Something clearly had gone wrong. That horrible grayness had leached the rosy color from her skin once more, and her face was closed as a fist. And if that wasn’t enough to alarm him, she was wearing pants. Her fine, ash-brown hair, sans headband, flopped around the sides of her stiff, still features, and she didn’t push it out of the way.

  She was passing by him in the hall outside their rooms.

  They made eye contact. Hers were red-rimmed.

  She offered no polite smile, as she usually did. No simple, friendly greeting. Nothing but a bare nod as they crossed paths and continued in their separate directions, farther and farther apart.

  He couldn’t take it.

  “Candy.” Catching her good arm, he gently urged her to a stop. “Hold on a minute.”

  Obediently, she turned to face him, but said nothing.

  Her total lack of expression kicked his heart into a panicked gallop. Dammit, what the hell had happened to her?

  He stepped closer. “Are you okay? Because I haven’t seen you look like this in—”

  “It’s the three-month anniversary,” she told him in a monotone. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to make a phone call.”

  Shit. Shit. He should have remembered.

  July fucking fourteenth, she’d spat. My baby sister.

  When she turned away, he moved in front of her.

  “Candy, please.” Ducking his head, he caught her eye again. “Is there something I can do to help? Do you want to talk, or—”

  Once more, she didn’t let him finish.

  “I appreciate your offer. I mean that.” Her face had softened a fraction. “However, you wanted time without physical or emotional intimacy. I’m respecting your wishes. Please don’t make that process harder than it already is.”

  Without further ado, she removed her arm from his loose grasp and reclaimed a step’s worth of distance.

  She might as well have belted him in the gut. The formality of her words, the rejection of his offered comfort, his touch, drove the breath from his lungs.

  “You’re right.” He forced out the words. “Of course you’re right. I’m sorry.”

  He wanted to vomit.

  He’d done this. No one but him.

  He’d erected this barricade between them, scared of what might happen without it, and now he couldn’t reach her. Not even when she needed affection and understanding and everything else he had to offer her. Everything else he wanted to offer her.

  And if he ever decided to tear down that barricade, he had no idea whether she’d still be waiting on the other side. If she wasn’t, he wouldn’t blame her.

  “Griff…” She sighed, her bloodshot eyes sharp on his face. “It’s fine. I’m not angry. Just…trying to do what’s right.”

  Fuck, why was she reassuring him?

  Her attempted smile didn’t last more than a breath. “Don’t worry about me. I suppose I simply need some time too.”

  Stupidly, he’d never considered how it would feel to let her hurt alone.

  That was his sole option, however. At least for the moment.

  “I’ll get out of your way, then.” His legs leaden weights, he moved to the side of the hall. “Please take care of yourself. And if you want me to handle more of our activities this week, just let me know. I’d be happy to help.”

  Looking at the state of her, he could hardly believe she’d survived two full days of teaching and various Falling for Poetry projects. If he could ease any of her burdens for the rest of the week, the ones he could still access, he would. Gratefully.

  Already turning away, she suddenly snapped her fingers and swiveled back to him. “God, I almost forgot. Yes. Yes, I could use your help.”

  “What can I do?” Whatever she needed, he’d take care of it. Anything. Everything.

  “My doctor’s office called this afternoon and left a message on my cell. They moved my cast-removal appointment to late tomorrow, when I’d planned to help set up for the poetry slam.” With her thumb and forefinger, she pinched her temples, looking even more tired than before. “I can reschedule the appointment, obviously. If at all possible, however, I’d prefer to keep it, because the itch beneath this damn contraption”—she glared down at her cast—“may well drive me to madness soon.”

  He didn’t hesitate. “By all means, get your cast removed as soon as possible. I’ll make certain the poetry slam preparations happen without a hitch.” Removing his phone from his pocket, he tapped out a note to himself. “Do you want to skip the event entirely and just go home after your appointment?”

  “No. I want to see all our hard work pay off.” Her tone discouraged further discussion. “My appointment’s at five. I have no idea how long it takes to remove a cast, but I hope to be back at school by six-thirty at the latest.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “However long it takes is fine.”

  Despite his reassurances, she frowned up at him. “Are you positive you can coordinate all the prep without my assistance?”

  He’d have thought she didn’t trust him, but he knew her too well by now.

  The woman hated shirking responsibilities. That wasn’t what she was currently doing, of course, but she would perceive it that way anyway.

  “Don’t worry, Candy,” he said. “I’ll take care of everything.”

  Her long, slow exhalation left her slumped. “Thank you, Griff. Okay, now I really do need to go.”

  He smiled. “You’re more than welcome.”

  With a nod, she turned a second time and began to walk away, her stride more a shuffle than her usual stomp. Moment by moment, her figure got smaller in his sight, her footsteps fainter in his hearing.

  She was disappearing from him, bit by bit.

  When she was halfway down the hall, he couldn’t stop himself.

  “I swear to you, Candy, the anniversaries hurt less over time,” he called out.

  She halted for a moment, her back stiff. Then she lifted a hand in acknowledgment and kept walking.

  Late that night, he lay on his couch and ached for Candy and her loss.

  He also ached for his own losses. Old and new. Unavoidable and self-inflicted. Marianne and Candy. The woman he’d loved and married, and the woman he—

  Well, he hadn’t let it get that far, had he?

  The space he’d imposed between them, the time he’d requested to think and recover, he’d considered rational. But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it had nothing whatsoever to do with reason.

  Maybe it was a total dodge, born of fear. The instinct of a wounded creature swiping wildly at anything and anyone that came near, forestalling any further chance of pain.

  He could love Candy.

  He c
ould. If he let himself.

  Did he intend to wait until he no longer grieved Marianne’s death?

  Did he intend to wait until he no longer thought of Marianne at all?

  Did he intend to wait until he no longer feared another loss?

  If so, he’d never move on. Never fall in love again.

  Our hearts are large. They contain multitudes.

  I don’t expect yours to be empty of anyone but me.

  Did he really think Marianne would consider his attachment to another woman a betrayal? The same Marianne who’d always, always wanted only good things, only joy, for him? The gentle, generous woman he’d sworn fidelity to until death did them part?

  Death had parted them in a brutal, sudden rupture. Three years ago.

  Did he really think Marianne wanted him to throw himself on a figurative funeral pyre to prove his grief and loyalty to her?

  In his dreams these past weeks, she raged at him in a way she’d never done in life. He’d woken with a pounding skull and wet cheeks, entirely ignorant of what she was trying to tell him in his sleep. What his brain was trying to tell him.

  Now he understood.

  For all her gentleness, Marianne would be fucking furious at him. At the waste of it all. At the very idea she wouldn’t know he loved her still, even if he grew to love someone else.

  The second part of his life was beginning, like it or not, and the two halves were going to be conjoined somehow. And all this time, when he’d fearfully considered the juncture, he’d thought in terms of or.

  He grieved Marianne, or he desired Candy. Marianne was his beloved wife, or he could find joy in his life after her death. He loved the wonderful, empathetic woman he’d married, or he could fall in love with the wonderful, indomitable woman in the classroom next door.

  But his heart contained multitudes. It did.

  Or was a false dichotomy, as he’d once tried to tell Candy.

  He’d chosen the wrong conjunction.